


Final Breath That Was Drawn

by SleepingReader



Series: The Terry Pratchett Challenge - 31 days, 400 words a day - [1]
Category: His Dark Materials - Philip Pullman
Genre: Character Death, Death, Gen, Original Character(s)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-30
Updated: 2019-06-30
Packaged: 2020-05-31 11:11:29
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 465
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19424791
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SleepingReader/pseuds/SleepingReader
Summary: When Sir Terry Pratchett was younger, he used to write 400 words a day. Didn't matter what it was.So here we begin. The Terry Pratchett Challenge.31 days. 400 words a day. Doesn't matter what it is.DAY 1





	Final Breath That Was Drawn

They lay together, side by side in the snow. He with his hand curled in their fur, his Saint Bernard daemon that had trotted by his side for so many years. The soft white snow speckled the brown fur with little stars. If they had any energy, the man would tease his daemon for having dandruff. As it was, they didn’t. The snow felt warm and soft. The dog’s fur even softer. Just a little more moments, and they’d be separated for the first time in their lives. But there was no fear. They both knew it had to be this way. They both knew the risks of climbing the tallest mountain. And they both rejoiced for the young life they had just saved. 

She had been fierce, but lost, hopelessly lost on the mountain. Her gear had fallen into a ravine, and she herself had been clutching on for dear life on a precipice. Her great hawk daemon had circled overhead in blind panic, trying desperately to get his human back on her feet. And they had seen. They, who scouted the mountain in search of lost souls, whose snowy boots and paws had become so much a part of them that it was hard to tell where one ended and the other began.  
The touching of another daemon is prohibited, until the uttermost end of need. His daemon had grabbed her by the scarf and had pulled her up, much like a cat pulling up a kitten.  
They had given her a sled. A way out. And she had taken it.  
But the ripples the sled had made in the snow had created an anger in the mountain, and the mountain retaliated. He had taken another life away from it, and the mountain roared for revenge.  
His legs used to be strong, but no one is stronger than tons upon tons of snow in a white flurry of rage.  
They had fallen. There had been no other way to go.  
They had fallen. And they had gotten up  
And there had been no other way to go. 

His legs used to be strong, now they were freezing, blue toes in barren boots. The fur beneath his daemons nose had started to freeze, small icicles hanging from them like candy canes in a Yule tree.  
It takes a long time for someone to die. To freeze, to sleep. No more dreams, no more walks. No more.  
His hand gripped their fur for the last time. They gazed into each others eyes.  
They spoke together, as one. Like they always used to.  
‘Goodbye.’ 

And with the Final Breath That Was Drawn, his daemon returned to Dust, gently floating up into the stars above Mount Everest. He watched them go, until his eyes saw no more.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading!  
> Mind how you go.  
> Goodnight!


End file.
